


a misconstruation of sound

by asweetepilogue



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Geralt of Rivia is a dumbass, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetepilogue/pseuds/asweetepilogue
Summary: Something is off about Jaskier, and when Geralt hears one of his new songs he jumps to conclusions.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 434





	a misconstruation of sound

**Author's Note:**

> from [this prompt list](), #6: “I want you to be happy... even if it's not with me."

Jaskier had been different, lately. 

It took some time for Geralt to notice it consciously. The bard had always provided a constant stream of chatter and movement, even after he’d lost some of the youthful energy that had propelled him when they’d first met. Jaskier was loud, and passionate, and he was entirely and completely open with his thoughts and his affections. It had been refreshing, if slightly abrasive, when they’d first started traveling together. Jaskier never smelled like he was hiding anything, no fear or anger or disgust. When he was irritated he grumbled; when he was pleased he sang. Geralt had grown to rely on the ease with which Jaskier communicated, as he himself was so unused to human interaction. 

Over the last few months, however, Jaskier had become… quieter. There was no other word for it. Geralt almost wanted to say that it wasn’t true. Jaskier still sang as they were walking down the road, still blabbered on for hours about nothing while Geralt provided idle hums in response. But nowadays sometimes he would look up and Jaskier would be completely still. He didn’t hum or chat with himself while washing Geralt’s hair. His fingers were still on his lute when they sat around the campfire at night. He would stare off into the distance, eyes unfocused, brow furrowed slightly with some unnamed emotion. 

It was unsettling. Concerning, even. It wasn’t a big enough change that Geralt felt like he could come out and ask about it. He wouldn’t even know what to say, especially considering the number of times he had asked for five minutes of peace when the bard was in the midst of a song. Now that he had it, it was only making his insides twist with worry. What if the bard was ill? Humans were exceptionally fragile creatures, after all. Traveling on the road as they did was risky, in ways that Geralt couldn’t even begin to categorize. So he settled with watching, waiting for any further sign of Jaskier’s distress. 

For several weeks, there was no change. Jaskier continued to be Jaskier, exuberant as ever, except in the moments that he wasn’t. And Geralt watched, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

It wasn’t the one he expected, when it finally did. They were staying in a small town while Geralt finished up a job, settled in the inn over the main tavern. Jaskier had been playing to cover their stay, which was their usual way of doing things. It was a good deal, even if Geralt didn’t necessarily need the luxury. It was nice, though, to come back from a hunt and rest his weary limbs in a bath while Jaskier cleaned him off and rubbed salve into his new scars. Though it hurt something deep in his chest, whenever Jaskier touched him like that. With such care, as if Geralt was the one that was breakable, instead of the other way around. 

Geralt returned to the inn late; the wraith he’d been hunting only came out at night, so he’d had to wait for the sun to set. When he stepped into the tavern, there were only a few people remaining, most drunk enough to be half asleep already. Jaskier was perched on a stool in a semi-cleared out spot against one wall, crooning out a song. It was soft, and Geralt wondered if the human patrons would even have sharp enough hearing to make out the words. As it was, he slowed his own steps slightly, pausing to listen as a new verse began. Jaskier’s fingers danced along the strings of his lute, and he sang:

_ My footsteps are following yours now, _

_ They’re drawing me like siren song. _

_ With each step my heart begs, turn away now, but my boots _

_ They keep marching along.  _

_ I want everything I can’t have, love, _

_ But it’s my lot, can’t pass it on. _

_ And though my bones ache, _

_ and perhaps my heart breaks, _

_ I’ll sing for you love, til dawn.  _

It was deeply unlike Jaskier’s usual fare, melancholy and yearning. Geralt wondered, for a moment, if it was someone else’s, but despite the fact that he would never admit it, he recognized Jaskier’s style. And besides, there was no way that even Jaskier would be able to put such raw emotion into the words if they were not his own. His brow was furrowed, and his voice nearly cracked over some of the words. It made Geralt’s heart squeeze in sympathy. 

The bard was in love, and somehow Geralt had missed it.

Not that it was unusual for Jaskier to find people to love. When they’d first met, Geralt had written him off as a womanizer, falling into bed with anyone who would take him. And while it was true in part, Geralt had come to realize that it was more the case that Jaskier did not guard his heart. His affections were showered on everyone, and he seemed to truly fall a little in love with everyone that he flirted with, whether it led to bedding them or not. Geralt, who guarded his own heart so carefully, was sometimes envious of how Jaskier was able to love so openly and without restraint. 

But he’d never seen Jaskier like  _ this _ . The bard had written the occasional ode to his paramours, but nothing with this much ache in it. This was a song about love unrequited, or perhaps forbidden. How had he not seen this? They hadn’t been anywhere for too long since meeting up months ago, which meant that Jaskier must have met this person over the winter when they’d parted last. The bard had been pining away, and Geralt hadn’t even realized. 

Jaskier’s eyes met his across the tavern, and Geralt watched as his face flushed a delicious red. He stilled the strings of his lute abruptly, seeming like he’d been caught doing something wrong. Geralt could hear him swallow across the room. 

He looked guilty. 

Geralt gave him a quick nod, refusing to acknowledge the tension in the air as he headed immediately up to their room. The guilt on the bard’s face made him feel nauseated. Was Jaskier following him around when he really wanted to be by this person’s side? Did he feel some sense of obligation to Geralt that kept him from the love he sang about? Did he want to stop trailing Geralt on the Path and go have a normal life?

The thought of the bard leaving him, maybe for good, was so overwhelming that Geralt had to sit on the rickety bed as soon as he entered their room. This was bound to happen eventually, he reasoned with himself. Jaskier was a young, attractive, now wildly successful man, as well as being truly kind hearted. Any young woman or man on the Continent would be lucky to have him, and most of them knew it. Eventually, the wanderlust that had pushed him to follow Geralt all these years would fade, and he would settle down. Get married, antagonize the nobility, have some children that Geralt would be forced to keep an eye on for the rest of his unnatural life. Geralt would visit him, occasionally, but they would drift apart and eventually Geralt would just be a story that Jaskier’s students brought up when he taught them lessons at Oxenfurt. 

It hurt his entire body to think about it. To not have Jaskier tagging along behind him, asking questions, reaching out to pull leaves out of his hair, patching up his wounds gently, crooning softly across the fire as the sun went down. Geralt hadn’t realized how much he’d come to appreciate the bard’s company until it was all about to be torn away forever. 

But that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be the thing that stood between Jaskier and happiness. No matter how much it might hurt. 

His mind made up, Geralt stood from the bed, the creak of old floorboards following him to the door. He yanked it open, only to almost pull Jaskier into the room by the doorknob. The bard’s hand was wrapped around it tightly, and he let out a sharp sound of surprise as he was tugged forward. Geralt reached out and steadied him, and he heard his heartbeat skyrocket. Nervous. 

“Oh, Geralt! Hello, I thought you would be asleep, maybe. Sorry. Oops, thanks,” he rambled, stumbling a bit as Geralt righted him. He pushed his way into the room, tucking his lute case back among their other things. Geralt’s stomach clenched uncomfortably at that - soon it would be only his own belongings again, and Jaskier’s rogue shirts and perfume bottles would disappear from his bags forever. It was a silly thing to feel upset about, but he found himself frowning nonetheless. 

“Jaskier,” he said. The bard hummed, not looking up at him as he rummaged about in the bags. No fire burned in the hearth, and most of the room was thrown into shadow. Moonlight fell across the bed and the warped floorboards, playing lightly across Jaskier’s hair. In the darkness he was all silver and deep, deep blues. “I heard your song. The end of it.”

“Oh?” Jaskier said, still not turning. His voice was half an octave higher than usual, and Geralt could smell the sour stench of anxiety from across the room. “Did you like it? It’s a new one I’ve been working on, with a different chord progression. I think it’s going to be a hit in the courts, but it’s a bit slow for the taverns -”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said again, and the bard closed his mouth, looking up at him. His eyes were washed a pale blue in the dim light, like the clearest crystal. “Who is it?”

If Jaskier’s heartbeat had been elevated before, it was pounding now. The sound of blood rushing frantically in and out of the muscle filled the room, a steady tempo to set their confessions to. “What do you mean?” Jaskier asked, standing. He was fidgeting, his fingers tugging at the embroidery on his doublet. A nervous tic Geralt hadn’t even noticed he had. 

“Your song is about someone,” Geralt said, his throat feeling tight. “Someone you… love.”

Jaskier swallowed, the click of his throat obvious in the small space. His eyes flashed over Geralt’s face, looking for something. “Maybe.”

Geralt exhaled sharply through his nose, fighting to keep himself from betraying any emotion. The jealousy that flashed through him was scalding. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; he’d known that he wanted Jaskier for some time now. It was the breadth of it that shocked him, the sheer magnitude of it. He’d been so busy ignoring his growing affection for the bard that he was amazed to find himself breathing heavy at the thought of someone else claiming the man’s attention. It was childish, he thought, and not very witcher-like at all. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said, forcing his tone to remain neutral. Jaskier gaped at him. 

“Why didn’t I - I think that should be obvious? My… feelings… aren’t going to lead to anything. Nothing will change. I swear,” he said the last part quickly, reassuring. 

Geralt sighed, running a hand over his face. “Maybe they should.”

Jaskier’s face fell, drawing into himself a little. “What? Why?”

“Jaskier, you -” Geralt set his hands on the other man’s shoulders, willing Jaskier to understand. “You don’t have to follow me around. You’re not under any obligation. You could - you don’t  _ need _ to. You’ll do fine, with your songs, without me, and I,” he swallowed, and made himself say it. “I don’t need you.”

He expected Jaskier to look relieved, to finally be released from a duty he had fabricated for himself, but instead he just looked gutted. Geralt couldn’t figure out what he’d said wrong, of course he’d said the wrong thing,  _ fuck _ . “You don’t want me around,” Jaskier said, his voice deadened. He stepped back, out of Geralt’s hands. “I understand. It would be awkward. No need to explain.”

Geralt clenched his jaw in frustration, feeling like something was still not getting through. “It’s just better this way.”

“Of course,” Jaskier said coldly, his face still closed off. “Just doing what’s best for both of us.”

“For you,” Geralt said. The whole conversation was like holding shards of glass in his bare hands, trying to piece something together without cutting himself. Impossible. “I want you to be happy, even if it’s not… with me.”

Jaskier’s brows snapped together. “What do you mean, even if it’s not with you? Who else would it be with?”

Confusion descended on Geralt. “With the person you were talking about in the song? Whoever you’re in love with.” He couldn’t hide the bitterness as he said the words, his lips twisting in a grimace. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said slowly, taking a step closer. He ducked a bit to catch Geralt’s gaze, holding it. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing, here. I’m just going to say it plainly, and then you can decide if you want me to go.” At this he turned his face away, his courage seeming to fail him. He took several deep breaths, looking over Geralt’s shoulder through the window. “The song is about you. They’re all about you, of course this one is about you too. I’m in… I’m in love with  _ you _ , alright?” He sighed, as if he’d just set down something incredibly heavy. 

“You’re in - with  _ me _ ?” Geralt blurted out. His mind was reeling. The song was about him. Jaskier wanted him, not some mystery noble in Oxenfurt or Novigrad or Cintra. He wanted Geralt. 

Jaskier nodded, biting his lip. “I know you don’t feel the same,” he said, mouth thinning. “I can promise this won’t change things between us, but if you want me to stop traveling with you I’ll understand. I’ll go back to Oxenfurt, I suppose, and play in the courts and, I don’t know, spy on the nobility, maybe you can drop by if there’s a bruxa that needs - Oh, hello, yes?” he said. Geralt had stepped up into his space, following as Jaskier retreated towards the wall. The air spiked with the smell of the bard’s nerves and, beneath it, the musky scent of arousal. It made Geralt’s nostrils flare, wanting to chase it back to the source. He moved closer, until they were sharing breath. “Geralt?”

“Don’t go to Oxenfurt,” Geralt said, and kissed him.

Jaskier gasped, a small, intoxicating sound, and lunged in to meet him. Geralt chased the gasp to find the other noises Jaskier might keep hidden in his chest, tasting them on the backs of his teeth. It was intoxicating; like the best mead he’d ever had, like honeysuckle and lavender on his tongue. He kissed Jaskier long and deep, pressing him close against the wall as if to prevent escape. Jaskier’s hands came up to push through his hair, lingering against his face. Holding him like a gift. 

Finally Jaskier broke away, breathing hard. Geralt moved away to nip lazily up his neck, nosing under his jaw. “This isn’t how I thought this conversation would go,” he said.

“Probably shouldn’t have,” Geralt said, words muffled. Jaskier stiffened slightly under him. He tried to smooth away the tension, petting his hands along Jaskier’s sides. “This isn’t a good idea,” he tried again. He pulled back, looking Jaskier in the eye. This was important, the moment hanging between them like a thread about to snap. “You deserve more than this.” He pulled a hand away to gesture at the ragged room, the worn saddlebags, himself. This life. “I want you to be happy,” he said again, softly.

Jaskier looked at him with a slight smile, his eyes bright. “Oh, my dear witcher,” he said. “I wouldn’t be, without you. You must know that, by now.”

“Well,” Geralt said, finding himself smiling back, “it would probably be unbearably quiet without you complaining all the time.”

Jaskier laughed and started to protest, but Geralt silenced him with another kiss, messy from their twin grins. The moonlight fell onto the bed and left them hidden in the corner of the room, and for a moment it didn’t matter what they deserved or didn’t. In the morning Jaskier would compose stanzas about how his palms felt against Geralt’s back, and Geralt would murmur in his ear about the taste of Jaskier’s skin under his tongue, and everything else was silence.

**Author's Note:**

> More prompt drabbles! The "Geralt misunderstands Jaskier's song lyrics" thing has been done to death, but it just felt right to me for this prompt and now I can say I've done it. I'm officially part of the fandom! Hope yall enjoyed. ps song lyrics are rly hard to write :\  
> I have a [tumblr!](https://asweetprologue.tumblr.com/) Come send me a prompt or rant with me about these boys


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